When Louisa continued to stare at him in bewilderment, he continued. “Charles grew ill during his last business trip, gravely ill. When I asked him whether I should send for you, he refused. He didn’t want to worry you. Unfortunately, in the past week, his condition deteriorated quickly. There wouldn’t have been time for you to join him even if I’d sent you a message.”
“Dead?” Louisa whispered again, unable to fathom the reality of the situation. She had prepared herself for many things, but not this.
Mr. Pritchard abruptly stood, motioning to Chloe. “Please take Mrs. Winslow back to her suite. She’s had a shock, and I hardly think the midday heat is good for her.”
“But of course, monsieur,” Chloe murmured, making a sad tsking sound with her tongue.
Mr. Pritchard turned back to Louisa, helping her to rise. “I’ll join you directly, Mrs. Winslow. For now, I think you need a few minutes alone. I have several matters to attend to so that the bod—Mr. Winslow’s remains can be brought here. Once I’ve finished, I’ll meet with you again. At that time, we can prepare for your trip to Boston and see to funeral arrangements.”
Distantly, Louisa was aware of Mr. Pritchard leading her through the station house. But even as she scrambled to make sense of the situation, a single thought stuck in her mind like a burr.
Once again, due to a bitter twist of fate, she was being forced to wait in New York until her husband—or in this case, her husband’s body—arrived.
A wave of blackness swam in front of her eyes. Louisa felt herself falter, but not from grief. She did not wish to be disrespectful of Charles Winslow and his unfortunate demise. But if the truth were known, she had been given little information about him other than his name and his supposed wealth. No, what had the ability to steal the breath from her body was the precariousness of her predicament. In one simple declaration she had fallen from being Mrs. Charles Winslow III, wife of a wealthy Bostonian entrepreneur, to…
To being no better off than she’d been before leaving England.
Once again, she was alone with no means of revenue to support herself.
Somehow, through a fog of confusion, she heard Mr. Pritchard reiterate his condolences, and a bitter laugh lodged in her throat.
How can I be a widow when I have yet to be a wife?
Mistaking her choked cry for one of sorrow, Mr. Pritchard took her arm and ushered her toward a line of waiting carriages outside the station.
After giving the address to the driver, he took Louisa’s hand in a manner that seemed almost fatherly. “I will join you as soon as I can. You can count on me.” His voice dropped and his expression became grave. “Please, Mrs. Winslow…speak to no one until I have had an opportunity to meet with you. Promise me.”
Startled by his request, she stammered, “I—I promise.”
It was at that moment that she suddenly remembered the giant. Had he been listening the whole time?
She looked up and scanned the crowd, realizing that the stranger had disappeared. When he had left her, she wasn’t sure.
Good riddance, she silently cried. The man was a nuisance from the moment he’d thrown her to the ground.
But as she climbed into the carriage, she couldn’t help scanning the crowd for a glimpse of buckskin. And her disappointment in not finding the man was nearly as great as what she had suffered upon discovering that her marriage was over before it had ever really begun.
Neil Ballard watched from the shadows of a nearby alcove as “Louisa Haversham” was hustled from the railway station and bundled into a waiting carriage.
So that was the woman who was supposed to have been his bride.
Neil couldn’t prevent the grin of satisfaction that spread over his lips. She was a rare beauty—even more lovely than her sister, he’d wager. With her pale skin, flaming red hair and indigo eyes, she made a powerful first impression. Who would have thought that the gawky, gangly girl from the orphanage could have grown into someone so lovely? He might have been tempted to think she was a stranger if not for her temper.
Unconsciously, his hand rubbed his upper arm. In that particular respect, Louisa hadn’t changed at all. She still had a volatile nature. But he didn’t mind. A woman who was quick to anger would be just as passionate in displaying other, more intimate, emotions. And that was a quality that any man could appreciate.
As the carriage melted into the chaos of the street traffic and Louisa faded from view, Neil straightened and made his way back to the station. Whistling softly to himself, he went in search of his baggage.
Only this morning, he’d feared that his cross-country journey would be for naught, and he would arrive to find his old friend already married to Charles Winslow. But the Fates had smiled upon him.
Charles Winslow was dead. Dead!
Neil nearly laughed aloud at the happy twist of events. He’d come to New York at a run the moment he’d discovered that the woman who had arrived in Oregon and claimed to be his mail-order bride was, in fact, a titled Englishwoman who had fallen in love with another man along the journey. In a dizzying series of explanations relayed to Neil by Phoebe’s traveling companions, he had discovered that Phoebe Gray and Louisa Haversham were actually sisters who had been parted as babies. Each of the girls had been raised thinking that she was an only child. Moreover, they’d been completely unaware of the way their father had conspired to keep them apart….
It was only when Phoebe Gray’s life had been threatened that she’d discovered the truth. And when Neil had found out that the same uncle who had tried to kill Phoebe was intent on harming his childhood friend, he’d reacted purely on instinct. Packing only essentials, he’d caught the next train for New York.
As mile after mile sped past, he’d told himself he was a fool. By the time he reached the East Coast, Louisa would be married—and what did it matter? She had rejected him for the arms of a stranger. She had married for money.
But even as he’d insisted that he was better off without her, he hadn’t turned around. Instead, he’d been even more determined to bring the two of them together again after so many years. He’d been driven by a need to see her again, to discover if she’d changed, to tell her just what he thought of her cavalier treatment. Yet, mere minutes after holding Louisa in his arms, after feeling her body soft and warm against his own, he’d learned that there was nothing to keep him from claiming her and taking her home.
Except her temper.
And her infinite stubbornness.
Again, his lips tipped in a wry smile. Although Louisa had changed over the years—even going so far as to adopt a new name and a new life for herself—some things hadn’t altered a bit. And judging by the fire in her eyes, she wouldn’t be looking too kindly upon him at the moment.
So what should he do? Heaven only knew he couldn’t force her to return with him to Oregon….
Which left him with a second alternative, one that he had toyed with only briefly on the journey. What if he could insinuate himself into her life, make her care for him, make her want to return with him?
Yes…yes, he liked that idea.
His whistle grew jauntier even as his brain began to formulate a strategy. He needed to hurry. If he didn’t get to the hotel before Grover Pritchard, his plans would be for naught.
Chapter Three
Chloe, could you be a dear and run down to that little corner shop we discovered yesterday? I’m suddenly in need of a cup of tea, and the blend they served yesterday was so delightful. Maybe it would soothe my jangled nerves and help me think.”
Chloe patted her arm. “Mais oui, but of course. I will return just as quickly as I can, madame,” Chloe said after ushering Louisa to the entrance of her suite.
“Check at the front desk for the nearest apothecary, as well. My head is throbbing. Perhaps the druggist could suggest something.”
“Yes, madame.”
As Chloe bustled down the hallway with a rustle of skirts, Louisa wearily twisted the key in the lock. In truth,
she didn’t care if her maid was able to return with the items or not. She merely needed a few minutes alone.
Shutting the door behind her, Louisa leaned against the panels, wondering why it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since she’d left the room.
Had it only been an hour? When she’d last left these walls, she’d been filled with such anxiety, excitement, hope….
And now?
Tossing her parasol onto one of the velvet-tufted settees, she closed her eyes. The quiet was a balm to her spirit.
To say Louisa was shocked and dismayed by recent events would be an understatement. Even now, her stomach churned with nerves. But as the reality of her situation sank in, she soon realized that it wasn’t her “widowhood” that bothered her most. No, what caused her the greatest amount of distress was the fact that she had been relegated once again to the gilded prison of her hotel room, where she would be forced to return to wearing black. And it was only a matter of time before she would be penniless and out on her ear.
Stop it! How selfish can one person be?
Biting her lip, Louisa sank onto the edge of a chair, gripping the armrests. Thoughts bubbled in her brain like a mountain spring, jumping from her predicament to the stranger at the train station to Charles’s lawyer.
What would happen to her in the next few days? Mr. Pritchard had mentioned that Charles’s remains would need to be shipped to Boston by train.
Louisa shivered at the mere thought. Apparently, she would be expected to accompany the body to Boston and arrange for a funeral….
Arrange for a funeral…
If she were about to be tossed onto the streets, Mr. Pritchard wouldn’t be looking to her for such niceties.
Did that mean her secret was still safe?
She grew still, a glimmer of hope chasing away the chill in her bones. As much as she might want to summon genuine grief for Charles, he was a stranger to her, nothing more than a name. How could she mourn for someone she’d never known?
Louisa pressed a hand against her lips to still the trembling that racked her body. She surrendered to a gamut of emotions—regret, fear, hope and…relief.
Relief?
Yes. Relief.
Suddenly, she saw her predicament from another perspective. She was a widow. She didn’t have to live with a stranger—or a husband. She was free. Free!
Living a life of service, Louisa had noted that widows were allowed a certain amount of latitude in society. If a widow was too flamboyant, it was attributed to her grief. If she wanted to travel alone, it was seen as a need for solace. If she immersed herself in wild escapades, it was a longing for diversion. As long as a woman followed the dictates of good taste and maintained an aura of soberness, she was left alone. If it weren’t for the inky-colored wardrobe she would be expected to wear and the lack of any sort of male company, a person might long to be in Louisa’s position.
A knock sounded at the door and Bitsy began barking from the side of the bedroom. Louisa quickly schooled her features, knowing that Mr. Pritchard must be on the other side. Heaven only knew she mustn’t reveal her true feelings to the man. She would shock him to the tips of his puritanical toes if she were to display anything but the most mournful demeanor. For the next few weeks, she must continue her charade with utmost care. If Mr. Pritchard were ever to suspect she was an imposter…
Louisa twisted the knob and swung the door wide. “Mr. Pritchard, how kind of you…”
The words trailed away into a choked silence as she realized it wasn’t Mr. Pritchard who stood before her, but the stranger from the station.
“Oh!” As she stared at the man on the threshold, Louisa’s exclamation was little more than a puff of air, but it was clear he’d heard her.
He touched the brim of his hat with two fingers. “Mrs. Winslow.”
How did he know her name? Where to find her?
Louisa shook herself. He must have heard it at the station. How else could he have known where to find her except by eavesdropping?
At a loss as to how she should respond, Louisa couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She could only wonder why he would seek her out.
And why her heart suddenly beat an odd tattoo.
Realizing that she was gaping at him in a manner that might be misconstrued, she frowned. “Haven’t you already done enough to ruin my day, Mister…”
“Smith. John Smith.”
She cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. She never would have imagined such an unusual man to have such a common name.
“You’ve come at a bad time, Mr. Smith.” Another spurt of shrill barking underscored her claim. “I’ll have to accept your apologies another—”
“I haven’t come to apologize.”
Before she knew what he intended, he stepped into her sitting room and closed the door behind him.
Louisa gasped, her chin lifting a notch. “Mr. Smith, I don’t know what business you think you have with me, but I really must insist that you leave.” When he didn’t move, she added pointedly, “Now.”
To her horror, he ignored her. Moving past Louisa, he opened the door to her bedroom and peered inside, then began looking behind the larger pieces of furniture as if he expected someone to be skulking in the shadows.
Her spine stiffened in outrage. “What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing?”
“My job.”
Her mouth worked wordlessly before she finally managed to say, “If this hotel—”
“I don’t work for the hotel. I work for your husband, Charles Winslow III.”
Louisa’s mouth hung open and she stared at him dumbly. Charles? “But Charles is…”
“Dead. Yes, I know. I heard Mr. Pritchard’s announcement at the train station.”
So this man had been eavesdropping on a conversation that was meant to be private.
“Mr. Smith—”
“You may call me John, if you wish.”
“Mr. Smith—”
“After all, we’ll be spending a great deal of time together.”
Again she was at a loss for words. Then, with a helpless wave of her hand, she dismissed his outlandish statement.
“If you are aware of Charles’s death, then you must also know that any business you had with him is over. You will have to make an appointment with Mr. Pritchard if you are seeking payment.” Sweeping her skirts aside, she moved toward the door.
“I have already been paid. In advance.” His eyes became piercing, forcing her to stop midway. “Charles hired me to be your bodyguard, Mrs. Winslow.”
Louisa huffed softly in disbelief. “If this is a twisted effort to finagle money out of me—”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Winslow, that I am your bodyguard.”
“I—it’s preposterous.”
“Not at all. As the wife of a wealthy businessman, you could be at risk. Your husband was naturally concerned about your welfare.”
“But…a bodyguard? Surely he wouldn’t have gone to such extremes.”
“Obviously you aren’t familiar with the hazards to be found in America, Mrs. Winslow. For all our outer gloss and polish, this is still a new country. A wild and somewhat untamed country. Even the civilized trappings to be found in New York and Boston haven’t completely dispelled a thread of lawlessness that runs through the…baser levels of society.”
Louisa unconsciously lifted a hand to her throat.
“A woman such as yourself is in danger of being kidnapped—or worse—by brigands attempting to steal part of your husband’s vast fortune.”
Louisa could barely breathe. “But… I don’t…”
“Your husband cared enough for your safety to arrange for my services before he died. You see, Charles had received a few threats….”
“Threats?” she whispered.
“Threats against your safety.”
Suddenly Louisa wasn’t feeling nearly as fortunate as she had only moments earlier. “I—I can’t believe—”
“You’d best believe what I�
�m saying, Mrs. Winslow. To ignore your husband’s wishes concerning this matter could have serious repercussions. Deadly repercussions.”
Louisa suddenly remembered how Mr. Pritchard had insisted that she speak to no one until he could confer with her again. Was this what he’d meant? Had he feared for her safety?
Her heart was thumping so wildly in her breast that she barely noticed John as he moved toward her. When he pulled her against him, comforting her, offering her the strength of his embrace, she didn’t resist. She couldn’t resist.
He was so warm, so broad, so protecting. It was easy to see that the man was good at his job. His mere presence inspired confidence and a sense of security.
And yet…with each moment that passed, Louisa became less aware of John as an employee and more aware of him as a man.
A tall man.
A handsome man.
A man capable of seduction.
Wrenching free, she wrapped her arms around her waist, unconsciously trying to retain the heat that had seeped into her body.
“I appreciate the fact that you feel an obligation, Mr. Smith, but—”
“I’m staying,” he said bluntly.
She scowled, his intractable attitude grating against already sensitive nerves.
“Surely you can understand that, if I found it necessary, I would prefer to hire a person of my own choosing.”
He didn’t move. He merely stared hard at her with those dark eyes, as if she’d said something childish.
“I can assure you that I’ll make every effort to find someone suitable.”
“I’m not going away.”
For the second time today, she stamped her foot in outrage. “Mr. Smith, I am a grown woman. I have seen to my own needs for some time.” She bit her lip, realizing that a true daughter of a marquis would not have made such a pronouncement. Rushing on, she added, “I appreciate your situation, but surely you must understand mine. At a time of such…sadness, I would prefer to have people around me that…that I could…that would…”
Lisa Bingham Page 3